


Alchemical Marriage

by Melusine10



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Episode: s02e07 Yakimono, Fix-It, Hannibal is a Cannibal, How did this get so fluffy?, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Massage, Ravenstag, Salty!Will, Wendigo, Will Knows, Will and Hannibal talk too much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 15:57:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7720831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melusine10/pseuds/Melusine10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal and Will are only elements undergoing change to fuel each other's radiance. An AU set circa S02E07 Yakimono. Will is released from the BSHCI and discovers that Hannibal has hired a new intern and taken up with Alana Bloom while he was wrongfully incarcerated. Hannibal is encouraged by Will's jealousy. Whiskey, hors d'oeuvres, and a less than orthodox Balinese massage ensue. Fluffy word porn with a dash of impressionistic smut. MPOV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This starts with a slight prologue introducing the minor OC. Don't worry. You'll get your Hannigram.

_Prologue_

The curtain fell on the second act to crashing applause. Hannibal tucked his playbill into the inside pocket of his jacket and stood to offer his own enthusiastic praise. The new tenor’s debut had rounded out the quality of the production. Pity tonight’s performance was thinly attended. From his box seat, he could see the main floor was filled with the usual suspects – the season ticket holders, the old moneyed, the nouveau riche. The upper level was far sparser. The second most desirable seating after his own was the front center mezzanine row – meant for those who truly wanted to experience the full spectrum of both the stage and orchestra. There was but a single, lone young woman occupying the prime realty. She stood and worked her way to the exit. Seeing so many empty seats made the corner of his mouth turn down in displeasure. Hannibal gathered his coat for intermission and slipped through the drapes of his private box.

Downstairs, he had no sooner acquired a glass of champagne than he was ambushed by two Baltimore Fine Arts Foundation board members. The ladies had been painted and pulled and taped and coiffed within an inch of their septuagenarian lives. They fawned over Hannibal and presumed to chastise him soundly for being remiss in his hosting duties. It was easy enough to lightly laugh off their pestering, recalling that the last time he had fed them, they had enjoyed a rather excellent cut of an abominably rude sommelier. More of his acquaintances joined their gathering and it soon became apparent what they all really wished to hear from him. Had he not felt up to entertaining because of _those_ horrid events, they wheedled?

The Baltimore elite did love a sordid little tale. In spite of Jack Crawford’s attempts to suppress the details from the press, the rumors had inevitably circulated about Hannibal’s brush with death at the hands of Matthew Brown. He waved off the incident as the work of a mentally disturbed vigilante and, appearing entirely unperturbed, steered the conversation to a more appropriate topic.

In truth, every time someone inquired about Will Graham’s vicarious attempt on his life, the deep scars in his wrists began to ache. A psychosomatic reaction, no doubt, the root of which he had yet to parse. His feelings about the man were like a black hole: inscrutable and inevitable, bottomless and endlessly destructive, in short, an all-consuming void. Hannibal Lecter was not a man to be consumed by something he did not understand. Quite the contrary.

Hannibal’s own dread hand had architected the confluence of circumstances which had put Will in Chilton’s dungeon of a facility. And yet the thought of the empath rotting down there was…regrettable. It was a situation which required further intervention; thinking of Will now soured his mood considerably. A shame to let the magical drama of the last libretto be spoiled now by unwelcome reminders from the sycophants surrounding him. He began looking for a way to politely escape.

From across the reception hall, Hannibal spotted the young woman he’d seen sitting alone. She was unmistakable, a vision in a structured white dress with a single orchid pinned in her dark  hair. Unusual to see someone so young with such sophisticated elegance, even if she was wearing something off a department store sale rack. How peculiar, he thought. Neither from privilege nor here to scramble up the social ladder. Excusing himself, he approached her.

“Good evening.”

“Hello.” She turned slowly away from the grand picture window overlooking the urban skyline.

“Enjoying the performance?”

“I am, thank you.” She paused to assess the handsome gentleman in the ascot and velvet blazer, gauging his intentions for singling her out. “I quite like the tenor they’ve brought on board. The younger conductor is refreshing as well.”

“Indeed. My thoughts exactly, Ms. -?”

“Miller. Antonia Miller.” She offered her hand.

“Dr. Hannibal Lecter. Charmed.”

“What a coincidence. I’m just familiarizing myself with some of your work. I’m in my second year of graduate work in psychiatry at Johns Hopkins.” She spoke of her student status almost apologetically.

“Is that so? I am spoiled to encounter a new colleague so unexpectedly.”

“Likewise.”

Hannibal reached up to skate his fingers over the delicate orchid pinned there. “I haven’t seen this particular species of _Papilionanthe_ in many years. My aunt used to breed them. A hybrid, I believe. Stunning and rare.”  

“Here,” she went to pull the bobby pin securing it.

“I couldn’t possibly deprive you of it. It completes your ensemble. Indulge me instead and tell me about your studies.”

“Dr. Chilton lectured on your article on social exclusion before…his indefinite leave of absence.” 

“And what did you think of Chilton’s presentation?”

The young woman gave a veiled smile – a controlled and familiar mask. “It didn’t do justice to the source material, I’m afraid.”

Amusement curled in Hannibal’s eyes. “Do you often attend the opera, Ms. Miller?”

“Oh no. Tonight is a special occasion – my birthday.”

“Ah, then I wish you many happy returns.” He offered his glass up in a toast. “Forgive me for intruding on your evening. You must be waiting for your date.”

Her lack of reaction was as telling as any other might be. She knew it was a bluff. “I came in my own company this evening. Why spoil Tosca with a distraction?”

“Why indeed.” Hannibal’s curiosity was peaked. The ticket for her excellent seat must have been quite an indulgence on a student budget. What sort of young person sought out the opera by herself, alone, as a treat? “Hopefully you’re not embracing the darker principles of social exclusion?” he teased.

Antonia laughed. “While I admit to having a curiosity about some of the more troubling forms of psychopathy and their treatment, I have never fallen prey to hypochondria as some of my peers.”

“Reading too much on lunacy and fancying themselves madmen, are they? Some things never change, Ms. Miller.”

“Imitation isn’t always flattery. I should hope that my own pathologies are at least monsters of my own making.” She winked.

Hannibal felt a genuine smile well up to the surface – the first he’d felt in a rather long time.

“Tell me – have you arranged a clinical internship yet?”

“As a matter of fact, no. I’m still looking for the right fit.”

He pulled out an engraved silver case and passed her a business card. “Give my office a call. We can discuss your career aspirations. Perhaps I can find a suitable position for you – and your monsters, of course.”

“I’m honored that you would take the time. Thank you, Dr. Lecter. You can expect my call.”

“Until then, Ms. Miller. Have a pleasant evening.”

  

<> 

 

_Two months later…_

Will’s confusion was scrawled openly on his face. While being falsely imprisoned had given him ample opportunities to practice schooling his emotions, he had not expected to arrive at Hannibal’s office and be greeted by a secretary in the waiting room. Less than 24 hours had passed since he had nearly shot Dr. Lecter in his kitchen. He wasn’t altogether certain about his plan now. The young woman’s presence threw him off entirely. She looked up from where she tapped at her computer and gave him a pleasant smile. He was about to ask whether Hannibal was available, but the woman preempted him.

“Good evening, Mr. Graham. I’ll let Dr. Lecter know you’re here. Would you care for a glass of wine?”

Will tried to organize the words in his mouth, but all he could manage was a nod. The young woman was dressed in a beautiful suit and heels – clothes whose cut and texture were clearly far too expensive for a secretary’s budget. Hannibal must have insisted she pay a visit to one of his tailors. She returned from the room marked “Staff Only” with two stems of shining rosé.

“Here you are. A Chateau d’Esclans Garrus Rosé from 2012.”

“This isn’t for other patients.”

“No, it is not for other patients.” He expected a knowing smile, something in her comportment to shift and give away her judgement. She had known him by sight, yet her expression betrayed nothing. Two books on psychiatry were neatly stacked on her workstation. One appeared to be in French. So more than just a secretary. Alarm swelled in his throat. She had standing orders on Will Graham. He wondered what other orders Hannibal had given her. Just how worried should he be – and should that concern be for her or for himself? She set the other glass on the edge of the coffee table near him and resumed her typing.

Will eyed the two glasses. The carefully distributed lighting in the room caught the wine at sharp pink angles. The bottle had undoubtedly been waiting for his return. That Hannibal had predicted him so thoroughly galled and excited him in equal measure. Without thinking, he nosed the rich aroma and threw back a slug. His palate was still too unrefined to appreciate whatever imponderably obscure vintage he was presently enjoying.

The door to Hannibal’s office pulled open. “Hello, Will.” Liquid amber eyes skirted over Will’s tamed curls and the pressed seams of the dress shirt he had chosen for the occasion.

“May I come in?” He handed Hannibal the other glass of wine.

The woman at the desk took her cue to leave. “Have a pleasant weekend, Antonia.”

“Likewise. See you on Monday,” she replied.

Hannibal invited Will inside. When he shut the heavy door behind him, he asked whether Will intended to point a gun at him again.

“Not tonight.” He found his usual seat and stared at Hannibal for what to anyone else would be an uncomfortably long time. “Why do you have a secretary?”

“Why do you think?”

“I think she’s an obstacle to your ‘extracurricular’ hobbies and I’m pretty sure I know what will happen when she inevitably gets in the way.”

“On the contrary. She lightens the burden of my administrative duties, freeing more time for leisurely pleasures.”

“How convenient. Where on earth did you find her?”

“Will, perhaps we should use this time to discuss your intentions in resuming therapy with me?”

“It’s my hour, no? I’m curious how you justify bringing potential collateral damage into your orbit. It would be helpful information for my therapy, you understand.”

Hannibal weathered his insinuations without so much as a raised eyebrow. “I employed a secretary for years before we met. Being without help was only a recent change in my practice. If it eases your mind, you will perhaps be relieved to know that Ms. Miller is an intern and thus a temporary fixture.”

“Christ. You’re grooming her. For what, exactly?”

“I believe the term is ‘mentoring’. And the purpose of an internship with an established professional should be patently obvious.”

“Your methods are certainly effective, I’ll give you that. To the intern then. May she be as _successful_ as you,” Will snorted and raised his glass. He drained the wine, catching the way Hannibal intently watched his bobbing Adam’s apple.

 

<> 

 

After seeing Will out, Hannibal washed and dried the dirty wine stems with a sense of satisfaction. Will had returned to him with far more sass and determination than ever before and it was properly celebrated with a much anticipated bottle of rosé. Hannibal was not of the opinion that jail had therapeutic value, but in Will’s case it had simply done wonders. Leave it to his Will to bounce back from incarceration full of vim and vigor. Of course, he was obviously trying to entrap him. And Will knew that Hannibal knew that was what Will was doing. They were simply drawing the sidelines of their renewed chase. He will never be goaded into admitting anything, and even if he were to, Will would never be so gauche as to wear a wire during their sessions. That left things to Will’s word against his – testimony that would never hold up in court given Will’s unstable history. Clever boy, to show him his cards this first round. What ace did he have up his sleeve? More importantly, what ace did Will think he wanted to play and which one would he impetuously choose in the heat of the moment?

Hannibal felt positively whimsical as he locked up the office. Will was such a predictably unpredictable man. It was maddening and thrilling. Twelve hours ago, Will brandished a weapon at him and had given very serious thought to murdering him. Again. Zeller and his sidekick Price would have been scraping brain matter off the back of the Chesapeake Ripper’s fridge, none the wiser. Such a death, at Will’s hands no less, would almost be poetic, were it not for the tasteless involvement of a firearm. He was, however, relieved Will had failed to follow through, otherwise he never would have discovered the depths of Will’s transgressions in his home. His would-be killer must have lain in wait for some time, grown bored, and decided to have a peek through his things. Or, more outrageously and thus, knowing Will, far more likely, he had assumed Hannibal would notice how he had rifled through his erotic drawings and upstairs drawers and done it anyway. It was only fair, Hannibal supposes. He had done his fair share of naughty rifling in Will’s belongings too.  

Showing up to his office the following day in a brand new shirt with freshly clipped curls…even Hannibal wasn’t entirely sure how to assess Will’s behavior. If he didn’t know better, he would almost suspect Will of _flirting_. He dismissed the idea, recalling with scintillating amusement how badly Will’s attempt to seduce Alana had gone. Slipping into the heated leather seating of his car, a smile crept over his mouth. Now that was an idea. Perhaps he should entertain Alana’s attraction to him once more in order to provoke a reaction from dear Will.

On the short drive to his home, he thought again of Will’s distress over his intern. Will claimed that he was worried she would be killed were she to stumble unwittingly onto his activities (she would) or, alternately, that he suspected Hannibal was grooming her to be a dangerously unorthodox psychiatrist (he was). Neither of these concerns, however legitimate, got to the heart of what bothered Will so deeply. He’d stopped just short of speaking truthfully and covered the near admission with a defensive joke and a backhanded compliment. Classic Graham coping mechanisms. Will undoubtedly hoped to protect the girl, as he wants to protect all vulnerable things that are not himself. Even amidst his fog of moral ambivalence, Will could not deny that their conversations held all the elements of the sacrosanct. He and Will generated a synchronous energy whose bounds defied description. They were, for lack of a better term, combustible, and like pyromaniacs were drawn to the fires of their own making. Realization washes over Hannibal, warm and comforting. Will wants to protect what is theirs from his intern. Will was _jealous_ that he appeared to have taken on another protégé in his absence. How interesting. Now what was to be done about that?

 


	2. Chapter 2

Will’s invitation to one of Hannibal’s legendary cocktail parties came as a surprise. For several weeks Hannibal and he had engaged in their verbal pas-de-deux with neither giving nor gaining any ground. Will was unsure why Hannibal would want him to mingle with his high society friends. At first he assumed it was for novelty’s sake – the nut who didn’t kill all those people. Ha ha. Yet if he were honest with himself, he knew deep down that Hannibal would never tolerate someone making jokes at his expense. That would be unspeakably rude. Alas, confusing as the invitation was, it was too tempting an opportunity to pass up.

Parking on Chandler Square was tight and the side street nearest Hannibal’s house was already packed with flashy cars driven by his flashy set. Will was forced to pull around and park in the alley behind the catering service van. He entered through the kitchen service door like a poor relation and nearly ran straight into Hannibal who was in the midst of giving orders to the hired help.

“Will! Wonderful of you to make it!”

“I…here…” He handed him a bottle of bourbon with a sadly flopping blue satin bow. “I figured I couldn’t compete with your wine expertise.”

“How marvelous. We’ll have to enjoy this treat together some evening.” Will watched his face, expecting his words to ring false, but Hannibal was truly appreciative. “Come, I’d like to introduce you to a few people.” Hannibal steered him towards the masses with a hand in the small of his back. His touch was warm and strangely grounding. Combined with the heavy dose of Hannibal’s excitement that he was channeling, Will might not actually offend anyone too gravely.

“Hannibal, who  _is_ this young man you’re guarding so jealously?” a woman in red said in an archly affected voice.

Hannibal did him no favors by introducing him as ‘one of the most gifted criminal profilers in the world’ to the woman whose name, he learned, was Mrs. Komeda. She was a crime novelist with far too much interest in what she referred to as ‘the bad boys,’ and he was subsequently cornered by the ridiculous creature for the better part of a half hour. He hated talking about the details of his work with strangers. When her husband finally interrupted her and he made an escape, Will found he had no one to talk to.

He grabbed yet another drink off a server’s tray and shrunk his way toward the wall. From there he was assaulted by an overload of useless information: the secrets of the crooks, the liars, and the unfaithful mingling together over hors d’oeuvres. Overwhelming all this, however, was a heady thrum of lust and envy, mostly directed at Hannibal. The entire gathering was patched over with the thinnest veneer of civility. It was this vibrating savagery just below the surface of the cordial nodding and bare-toothed smiles that Hannibal absolutely reveled in. Or was he misreading the entire event because he was channeling Hannibal’s emotions? Will felt disoriented. The alcohol in his system certainly wasn’t helping.

Next to Hannibal stood Alana, radiant as ever, seemingly unaware that she was surrounded by a pack of devils and allied with the King of Hell himself. From where Will sat, he noticed Hannibal’s hand kept roaming to Alana, finding little excuses to touch her back, her arm, her shoulder. She looked up at him with open admiration and Hannibal awarded her with a grin that crinkled at his eyes. Shock rang through Will’s spine. What the utter fuck. They were having an affair…

“You look like a man in need of liquid reinforcement.” The settee cushion suddenly shifted next to him. Will turned, slack jawed and unfocused. “How are you?”

He struggled to acknowledge Hannibal’s intern. “Antonia...” The woman nodded and gave him a glass of whiskey. “Thanks. Uh…” He was still too distracted by the sight of Hannibal’s hand on the curve of Alana’s neck to properly carry a conversation. “So, um…Hannibal’s intern. What’s that like?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. Demanding and rewarding, in equal measure.”

Will studied her for a moment. “He said the arrangement is temporary. When are you done?”

“Eager to see me go?”

“Call it a vested interest in seeing what kind of bird you become before fledging Hannibal’s nest.”

“Fascinating metaphor. I finish in the spring.”

Will worked his jaw and words he hadn’t quite planned came tumbling out. “I have no idea what he’ll demand of you when it’s all said and done – but I promise you, one day he’ll suggest you do something beyond outrageous. Remember me when that happens. Do whatever he asks and don’t you dare consider being anything other than perfectly polite about it. Understand?”

She smirked against the rim of her glass. “I’ve heard about the allegations you made. I’m surprised you showed up to one of his dinner parties, believing what you do.”

Will ran a hand over his mouth. “Don’t…do that. Don’t psychoanalyze me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m under strict orders, you know.”

“You’re still…observing. I can tell.”

“Sure. So are you. Far more clearly than me, no doubt. Mind sharing why you’ve been staring daggers at Dr. Bloom?”

Will sucked in a shaky breath. “I…excuse me.” He scrambled off the couch toward the hallway bathroom.

 

Ten minutes later, he emerged from the restroom no calmer. Will was sweaty and in the full grasp of a panic attack. He thought he might slip into the study to collect himself, but Antonia found him there.

“Will, forgive me. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“It’s fine,” he shrugged.

“No, it isn’t. I antagonized you.”

“It’s been a long…” What? Day? Month? Thirty-eight years? “These kind of events are hard on me. I’m a little drunk. More than a little,” he blurted out.

“What can I do for you?”

“I don’t know. Nothing. I just…” Antonia’s large eyes were so accepting, so kind. She really wanted to help him and fuck, he really, really needed help. She placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled.

“Antonia…”

“I’m here. What do you need?” Her mouth parted and looked so inviting. Will closed the distance and kissed her experimentally, once, then twice. She made a sound, not quite a moan, and pushed against his chest. “No, Will. We shouldn’t.”

“It’s okay,” he breathed softly and kissed her again.

“Will. No. Stop.” He pulled away and focused on her face again. To his horror, she looked confused and slightly distressed.

“Oh god. Jesus. Fuck. I’m so sorry. I didn’t – ” He slumped down on a nearby chair and covered his face.

Behind shielded eyes, the tears came, unbidden. The tears he’s kept walled off for so long. Antonia was immediately at his side, rubbing his back.

“Will, shhh. It’s okay. You’re a seriously handsome guy, but I really don’t want to get fired.”

A silent sob came out as shaky laughter. Hannibal’s conduct could hardly be called ethical; he’d be a god damned hypocrite if he sacked the girl over an unwanted kiss.

“I’m so sorry. I get confused sometimes. I misread social cues.”

“That’s bull, Graham. You’re not on the spectrum and we both know it.”

Will scraped his bottom lip between his teeth. “You kissed back. Was that just out of academic curiosity about my ‘condition’?”

“No, it was the three cocktails I’ve had and the fact that not even those chinos you wear can hide your cute ass. I told you, Hannibal made it clear that you are absolutely off limits. He’s very protective of you, you know.”

“Doesn’t want anything in my life except him,” Will said bitterly, scrubbing at the tears on his cheeks.

If she heard him, she didn’t acknowledge it. “Let me go get him, okay? Wait here.”

 

<> 

 

In the grand living room, Antonia caught Hannibal’s gaze and gestured toward the kitchen. He nodded subtly and held up a finger against his glass. Redirecting his guests to admire a painting he’d recently acquired, he moved quickly and efficiently through the crowd and found his intern in the corridor, trying to keep out of the way of the bustling wait staff.

“Will needs you.” she whispered. The words sent a shiver through his spine. “He’s upset.”

Hannibal glanced over her, realizing her lipstick appeared slightly smudged. “Show me.”

“In the study.”

He wasted no time going to him. Antonia followed behind, clearly hoping to be allowed, finally, to observe them interact. When he pulled the parlor doors open, he made a split second decision and ushered her in. Seeing them both, Will jumped to his feet.

The alchemy of calibrating neural pathways and activating psychological triggers was as much an art as anything Hannibal wrought in blood and bone. Tonight he’d thrown a host of pressures at Will, curious to see how he would react. He assumed Will would surprise him. Antonia, however, had all but fallen off his radar since Will’s return – a pet project all but abandoned. He had nearly forgotten that she might serve as a chess piece in the games he and Will played.

“What happened, Will?”

“I’m sorry. I should go.” He ran a hand through his untamed hair.

“Not until you tell me what is going on. Antonia says you are upset.”

“I…she should be the upset one. I’ve acted like an asshole. Sorry to distract you from your guests.”

“You are my guest too. You're never a distraction.”

“I’m just going to head out. Thank you for the invitation.”

While Hannibal had been assessing Will’s state, Antonia had silently worked her way to the far side of the room, effectively blocking the other door. Something flashed in her hand. She had palmed Will’s keys from the jacket he’d carelessly tossed on the back of the settee.

“Maybe you should lay down for a little bit?” She suggested. “You’re not in any shape to drive.”

Hannibal stared at Antonia. Brilliant little thing. He would reward her richly. “I concur. Go upstairs and rest, Will. First door on the right.”

“That’s -”

“- the room with the freshest sheets,” Hannibal supplied. “Up you go now. I’ll check on you shortly.”

The furrow in Will’s brow didn’t unscrew, but his feet begrudgingly found their way up the wide walnut staircase. Hannibal turned back to Antonia.

“Shall I have the servers bring out dessert?” she asked innocently.

He grinned like the cat who ate the canary. “Excellent idea.”

“Go on. I’ll say you’ve had an emergency call if they get rowdy.”

“Ms. Miller, I do believe I’ll dance at your wedding for the assistance you’ve offered tonight.”

She bit into a crooked smile. “Not if I dance at yours first. I do believe I just heard bells.” At that, she tossed Will’s keys to him. He caught them and turned quickly, lest his intern see him blush.


	3. Chapter 3

Will pulled at his collar. The retrofitted gas fireplace in Hannibal’s bedroom was on and the room felt blazing. He paced from the window to the dresser and back again like a caged animal, unsure where he was supposed to be but certain it was not here. Finally, he settled for the bench at the foot of the bed. Several minutes dragged by and he considered fumbling through the various wall switches to find the one which would turn off the godforsaken fire. Before he could try, the spring on the antique doorknob creaked and Hannibal swept in with a tray. He set it down on the side table and brought Will a glass of water.

“Tell me what happened.”

Will clenched his jaw. “She touched me and I empathized with her when she was empathizing with me. I got my wires crossed.”

“A simple misunderstanding, then. Not worthy of your distress.”

“I kissed her unwillingly, Hannibal.” He wasn’t sure whose unwillingness he was referring to. The doctor didn’t press him and instead knelt at his feet. A broad palm swept under the flop of curls at his forehead to check his temperature. Hannibal offered his handkerchief and Will wiped at the trails of sweat on his neck. He didn’t bother to try giving it back. Hannibal always insisted he keep them. He'd accrued half a sock drawer of them by now. It was one of those inexplicable intimacies between them which they never openly discussed.

“Let me hang your blazer and tie.” Will shrugged out of the humid jacket and pulled off his wretched tie. Hannibal carefully smoothed what wrinkles were willing to come out of them and hung them on the valet stand in the corner. On his way back to the bedside table, he clicked off the fireplace – a hidden panel under the mantle, it turned out.

“You haven’t eaten. Try a few of these.” He beckoned him to sit beside him.

Will could feel his heart racing. “I’m not going to eat…whoever that is…in your bed.”

Hannibal gave him an amused look. He pointed to one of the tasting spoons on the tray with two elegant fingers. “Seared cabbage with crisped quinoa in chili oil. This one is buffaletto cheese on  _pane_  topped with blackberries and macadamia nuts. Over here we have a selection of kumamoto oysters –  Washington raised, of course. And last but not least, sea urchin with cauliflower puree and chives. Nothing with a central nervous system, you will note.”

Will sat down on the edge of the mattress. The adrenaline racing through his system told him he ought to make a run for it. 

“Let’s have the oysters, shall we?” Hannibal suggested. Will picked up the delicate shell and the doctor mirrored his motion. Hannibal held his gaze as they slurped the contents. Unbidden, the thought that shellfish were an aphrodisiac crossed his mind just as the cool, buttery burst of ocean slid down his throat.

“Delicious,” Will confirmed. The approval pleased Hannibal greatly.

“Now slip off your shoes and lay back. You’ve been under a tremendous amount of stress.” He fluffed several of the pillows up. The velvet and silk bedspread certainly looked inviting. Unsure of why he was complying, Will slid back against the headboard and made himself comfortable. “There now.” Hannibal placed the tray in his lap, as though Will was lord of the manor. “Have a snack and then try to rest. I’ll check on you in, say, an hour?”

“I might not be able to sleep.”

Hannibal seemed to consider this and retrieved a slim book from his writing desk. The green leather binding was old but well preserved and gilded letters spelled out a name on the spine: Coleridge. Only Hannibal would have a 19th century copy of Rime of the Ancient fucking Mariner casually laying around. Asshole.

“Light bedtime reading, huh?” Will smirked.

“Nothing so dull as that. ‘Be as idle as a painted ship, upon a painted ocean,’ dear Will” Hannibal quipped. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

 

<> 

 

Antonia had so expertly attended to his guests, they hadn’t even realized he’d disappeared for nearly half an hour. When he returned downstairs, people were polishing off the last of the sweets and champagne. Hannibal had the servers start clearing the tables to signal that it was time to draw the evening to a close.

It took nearly two hours before he bid the last of his company adieu. He found Will fast asleep and he sat at his side, watching his long lashes flutter and flicker in dreams. Hannibal wondered what he dreamt of and whether he could be convinced to tell. Twice he found himself leaning too close. Twice he wondered if Will tasted like he smelled. With him, all of Hannibal’s clinical objectivity was unhinged by the twitch of an eye, the hitch of a breath.

Will exhaled sharply and a soft whimper came out. His lips worked around a word. Hannibal could have sworn it was his own name.

He felt the twisting pull of darkness, the whirlpool drawing him in. Hannibal picked up the book on the bedside table to see where Will had left off:

_“The devil knows how to row.”_

He certainly did, and he ought to row harder given the spell with which Will sought to drown him.

 

<> 

 

Will dreamt he was sailing in a river of long grass. The rolling field was covered in a thin pall of mist. At the forest’s edge, a ravenstag watched him struggle with the lines. No matter how he tacked or trimmed the mainsail, his ship would not move.

“Hannibal!” he called, but his voice seemed to be swallowed by the night. He shouted louder, cupping his mouth, hoping the sound would reach below deck. A crack shook the boards under his feet. “No!” he cried. “No, no!” The groans grew louder and the ship rumbled and swayed. The deck began to split beneath his shoes. Great beastly antlers as black as the sky pushed through the splintering wood and rent the boat in half. Will turned to the ravenstag for help but the ravenstag was gone, swallowed up by the roiling fog. He jumped overboard into the sea of grass and waited for the beast to rise and devour him. The fog closed in and silenced the world, cloaking everything in grey beads of moisture.

Will opened his eyes, shivering. The beast and the fog and the ship and grass – all were gone, slipped back into the shadowlands of his mind. Hannibal hovered over him, his hair slightly mussed. A warm hand lay over Will’s shoulder. Possessively, he thought.

Hannibal watched him curiously. “You were dreaming.”

Will collapsed back into the pillows and let out a little huff of a laugh. “I thought I might be dreaming still. What time is it?”

“Late. The guests are gone.”

“Christ. My dogs…”

“I took the liberty of asking Alana to see to them. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, that’s...thanks.”

“You’ve not told me about the night sweats.” There was more than a little recrimination in Hannibal’s voice. “How often do you experience them?”

Will grimaced. Always? Forever? The truth was ugly.

“Oh, Will.” Hannibal squeezed his shoulder and stroked the length of his arm, pausing to take his pulse. “How do you normally deal with them?”

“Hot shower and a stiff drink. Or four.”

Hannibal tutted at him. “Let’s try something different. We’ll modify your routine. Go shower off. Pass me your clothes when you’re ready and I’ll get them started in the wash.”

 

Will felt the thick boards of his ship underfoot, again trembling and about to rip apart. Half of him wanted to fight Hannibal’s suggestion tooth and nail. The other half desperately wanted to see where this would lead.

 

He sat up, forcing Hannibal out of his immediate space. “Why are we in your bedroom? Of all the rooms at your disposal, why did you send me here?”  
  
“You needed privacy, away from the din of the party. This is the most private room of my home.”

“I sincerely doubt that.” No, there was a basement behind a false wall or trap door somewhere, probably close to the kitchen for his work. He hadn’t yet found it yet, or rather, he hadn’t yet been invited in. He wasn’t sure which he intended.

“You already sought my bedroom out once before, did you not?”  
  
Oh, it was games upon games upon games with him. Will refused to balk. “I was looking for clarity before.”

“Did you find it?”

“Not in here.”

“What were you expecting?”

“Some banal clue. Something revealing. But there is nothing about you that isn’t perfectly curated, is there? No half empty prescriptions in the cupboard, as it were.”

“Nothing sordid and terribly mundane in the nightstand?” Hannibal suggested with an imperceptible smile.

Will snorted. “Most people are like onions. You peel them back layer by layer, each one revealing a little more of who they are.”

“What did you find when you tried to peel me?”

“A one-way mirror. Nothing but a black void behind a shiny surface.”

“An interesting choice of words. I too have tried to see the man behind the veil you wear. We neither of us are onions, useful and tasty though they may be. Tell me. What reflections of yourself do you see now? What void lies beneath?”

Will looked away. He looked toward the window where his haggard face was warped by the imperfections in the old, hand-blown glass. He half expected to see the horned beast staring back. “I think I’ll go rinse off now.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

The stiff pressure of Hannibal’s cavernous shower felt glorious. Glass bottles lined a recessed shelf. They contained hand-blended soaps and creams, undoubtedly from some European boutique. Unsure of the specific contents, he pumped large squirts of each in his palm, sniffing them to divine their purpose and testing their lather. He took his time, enjoying the sensation of recklessly using Hannibal’s things, watching his indulgences waste down the drain. When he was done, he wrapped a towel around his waist and peeked out of the bathroom door, still dewy and dripping.

“Hannibal?”

The lighting in the room was rearranged; the overhead spotlights were turned down in favor of a few candles and several small lamps. Will swallowed. Hannibal emerged from the closet having divested himself of his blazer, waistcoat, and tie. His white shirt was neatly rolled to his elbows as he did when he was cooking.

“If you put on an apron, I’m leaving,” he deadpanned.

“Lay back down on your stomach, please.”

Will clutched at the terrycloth around him. “Why??”

“Tonight’s incident with Antonia is unsurprising, in my opinion. You were incarcerated in solitary confinement for months on end. After being deprived of stimuli for so long, your senses are in overdrive. Did your physician ever recommend massage therapy after Jack shot you?”

“Insurance wouldn’t cover it.”

“No matter. In your case I suggest trying massage, specifically of the Balinese variety, which has long been valued for its many restorative benefits. Deep tissue manipulation combined with reflexology and aromatherapy make it quite effective for relaxation.”

“You want to be my massage therapist now?”

“I’ll be anything you need me to be, Will. You know that.”

He resisted rolling his eyes. Hannibal offered two different jars of waxy paste for him to smell. Will inhaled and chose the one which was half-empty.

“Excellent selection. My favorite as well.”

An image of Alana between his sheets flashed up in his head. The scent of the pomade on Hannibal’s veined hands smoothing across heated curves, the tangle of legs and mouths. Will balked. “Nnn..no. I made a mistake. The other one.”

He looked into the offending jar, trying to understand Will’s poor reaction. “This is best for sore muscles. I prepared it myself and use it to help reduce lactic acid buildup after swimming.” This time Will envisioned Hannibal’s lithe body slicing through aqua water, twisting against the tile, gouts of blood splashing over the lip of the pool, clouds of crimson blossoming in pluming trails from his wrists.

“Fuck,” he muttered and dragged a hand over his face. Will glanced at the red scars on Hannibal’s wrists and had the strangest longing to taste them. “You’re right. My imagination is all over the place tonight. I appreciate your help.”

Hannibal guided him to where he wanted him on the bed, apologizing that he didn’t have a proper massage table on hand. Will startled when he felt firm hands on his shoulders. The massage wax heated under the friction of their combined skin and strong thumbs ran along his tense, ropey back. It felt heavenly. Of course Hannibal was a master at this too. He worked down the length of his spine, releasing the knots he found along the way. At his lumbar region, he lingered.

“You hold most of your anxiety in your lower back, Will.” He worked further into the contours of his sacrum and was rewarded when Will grunted in pleasure. 

“May I take this off to work on your gluteal muscles and hamstrings?” His fingers rested at the edge of the towel. Will twisted around to gape incredulously at his masseur and flopped back down. “I assure you, this is standard massage practice.” Hannibal pulled aside the towel and dug into the sides of his ass. Will couldn’t suppress the groan of pleasure that erupted then.

“Is there  _any_  boundary that you haven’t trounced on with glee?” he wondered aloud.

“Boundaries are merely conventions. An accord between two parties. If you find this disagreeable, you need only say so.” Hannibal’s fingers splayed across the firm globes of his cheeks, pulling and squeezing. He traced the lines of the musculature he knew by heart, from the tip of the coccyx down the seam of Will’s backside. Opening him. Exposing him. Seeing him in ways no one else did. Will’s heart pounded in his chest and he sensed Hannibal could hear his breath quicken. He found himself spreading his legs wider and arching into the delicious touch. He thought of oysters again and impulsively wondered what he would taste like to Hannibal, were Hannibal to dip his head and further breach his body’s boundaries. Preferably with his tongue. The satin of the sheets and the musky aroma of the massage wax and the heat of roving hands electrified every nerve in his body. His cock swelled in need and pressed into the mattress.

As if on cue, Hannibal covered him up again and began working on loosening the tendons in his upper thighs. The jarring move felt like a rejection.

“Reality doesn’t quite match your idealizations of me I guess,” he said sheepishly. Not even Greek gods possessed asses like Hannibal drew. Will had found piles of sketches of himself depicted from every angle, but most preferably, from behind.

“No, indeed. My imagination is nowhere near as rich as yours. I much prefer reality.” Will was tempted to taunt his unexpected humility, but instead he chose to mirror it.

“Why do you draw me?”

“I should think that to be obvious. Botticelli himself would have wept to be presented with such a muse.”

“Do I amuse you, Dr. Lecter?”

“You are a fascinating creature. Your mind is unique.”

“We weren’t speaking of minds.” Hannibal chuckled and Will rolled over, carelessly draping the towel over his half-hard crotch. He crooked an arm under his head and took a moment to enjoy the slight fidgeting adjustments Hannibal was trying to make to keep his mask of composure in place. “You’ve got me right where you want me. Bare and pliable in your bed. Perhaps you’d like to try sketching me now. Since you prefer reality.”

“Your massage isn’t done.”

“Does it have a happy ending?” The course joke tumbled from his lips without consideration of any of its implications, both rude and suggestive.

Hannibal’s nostrils flared and he arched an eyebrow. “Would you like it to?”

Will could hardly believe he’d spoken so flippantly. Hannibal had eviscerated people for less. He was getting entirely lost in whatever game they were currently playing. “You are my therapist…and my friend.”

“Our friendship has many benefits, our therapy many facets. Tell me, Will. What sort of ending do you wish for us?”

He furrowed his brow. “One that doesn’t end in violence,” he whispered and was shocked at how truly he meant it.

“You spoke several weeks ago about fantasizing killing me intimately, with your hands. In this alternate version of events, have you imagined the intimacy of touch as well?”

Fuck. Will felt the blood rush to his cheeks and there was no hiding it. Of course he’d wondered what Hannibal was like sexually. He’d just thought of Hannibal eating his ass out, for chrissakes. Part of him had been disappointed not to discover the treasure trove of high-end kinky toys Hannibal undoubtedly had amassed.

“We often sexualize others as a way of disempowering them,” Hannibal continued, ignoring the way Will bloomed with guilty desire. “Objectification is a means of exerting control and expressing dominance. Is this an appeal for dominance or merely your way of fumbling into seduction?”

“If objectification is meant to control, then you are no less guilty than me. Your drawings speak volumes about your painstaking attempts to disempower me in strokes of charcoal and ink.”

“My drawings are attempts to capture the beauty I see in the world. To honor it.”

“To possess it.”

“In some small way, yes.”

Will pushed himself up on his elbows. Hannibal’s only reaction was to settle a hand on his knee. The tension in the room rested on a knife’s edge.

“You put me in a cage, Hannibal. When Chilton barred you from seeing me, did you feel like you’d lost control over your prized possession? Is that why you freed me?”

“You freed yourself, mongoose, when you tried to have me killed.”

Will shuttered. The scars on Hannibal’s wrists were angry and exposed. He reached over and touched the tender, raised flesh with a thumb. Hannibal allowed the caress, reached into it even.

“I thought…I could free myself from your influence. I doubt we’ll ever be truly free of each other.”

“We’ve changed each other in many ways. We dance a rather elegant  _pas-de-deux_ , if I may say so.”

“Where does this stop? We’re going to fucking kill each other, you know. I’m fairly certain that Jack is betting on that option as his plan B. He’s always suspected there was a killer inside me. Now he’s certain.”

Hannibal covered Will’s hand in his. “There are means of influence other than violence.”

Will swallowed hard and the gulf of possibilities spread out before them. The intensity of Hannibal’s unwavering gaze and the feel of his hands suggested everything and gave away nothing. “You didn’t answer my question, Will. Is this domination or seduction?”

“Yes, I think, is the answer to that. For the life of me I can’t tell where you end and I begin.”

“I think Jack thinks you’re his lure. He doesn’t realize you’re the only one who’s ever held the rod.”

“I know I’m my own man. I also know we’re dangerous. Wrong, even. I’m not sure you and I will ever be without violence.”

“Violence is merely passion transformed, molded, and directed. We could share many of our passions. Together.”

Will sat up fully, crowding Hannibal’s space, breath falling heavy.

“Is that what this is? An invitation?”

“It is if you want it to be.” At some point Hannibal’s hand had wound itself around Will’s neck and pulled him closer. Those amber eyes and that supple, forbidden mouth taunted him and he nearly kissed Hannibal before thinking better of giving himself away without striking his devil’s bargain.

“Stop sleeping with Alana Bloom. I know you’re doing it just to piss me off.”

Hannibal’s lips curled ever so slightly. “Certainly. Any other demands?”

“Yeah. Write your secretary a nice letter of recommendation and then fire her. I don’t want her lurking around us anymore. No more murder interns.”  _Other than me_ , Will nearly added.

“Consider it done. Your absence was not a void I could fill.”

“God your puns are terrible. Holding rods and filling voids. Fucking subtle, Hannibal.” Hannibal moved to capture his petulant mouth but Will shied from him. His lips hung just out of reach, the fruit of temptation begging to be bitten.

“One final request.”

“Anything you want, clever boy.”

“You can taste me, savor me, flavor my skin however you like with oils and colognes or whatever weird shit you enjoy…but let’s keep the consumption strictly metaphorical. I’m permanently off the menu.”

Hannibal gave him an indulgent look. “I would sooner eat my own heart than engineer your death or treat you like meat. You are mine. All of you. You always were.”

“And you are mine. Hook, line, and sinker.” A rising flush colored Hannibal’s knife blade cheekbones and he licked his lips in anticipation. “Now come here, Dr. Lecter. Let’s have that happy ending.”

“Rude boy,” Hannibal whispered and his blush deepened.

Will gave in to the pull that had drawn them together all along, two cataclysms in synchronous orbit. And when their mouths finally found each other and hands clutched at skin and moans filled the night, the heat of their passion set them alight and with them, lit the world on fire. Shirt buttons went flying, teeth bit to find bone, hard flesh sunk into any place which would yield. It was messy, slick with sweat and semen and saliva passed over and again with frenzied urgency. This was not the polite lovemaking of two strangers but the alchemical marriage of elements separated too long in the cosmic dust. Will doubted anyone had ever fucked or been fucked so desperately before. They were reckless for each other, Hannibal thoroughly unhinged, smashing through lamps and furniture to only exist for the other. It was a design of their own making, a mutual seduction by dark dreams and fevered hunger, sealed by the horror of insatiable need and intimacy. It felt inevitable, fated - and right.

<> 

When he woke the next morning in tangled limbs and sheets binding him to his love-bitten, muss-haired lover, he wondered why they ever wasted time pretending it wasn't always about this. It would only ever be about this, their ever-changing transformation, evolving into the other, elevating themselves through each other's undying passion. It was beautiful. 

"William," Hannibal said, clearing his hoarse throat, eyes still closed. "I have a gift that I've been meaning to give you for some time now."

"Something to celebrate our first date with?"

Hannibal lolled his head to the side and breathed in the soft essence of Will's neck. "Oh I'd say we're well past courtship, dear. Call it an early wedding gift." 

Will's surprise and pleasure stretched into an embarrassed grin. "What is it?" he asked, more than a little breathless.

"Not what. Who."

"Who?"

"Abigail, of course. She's been waiting for us this entire time."

"You...?"

"Gave her a new life, my darling. We all have new lives awaiting us. But first I think I'll make us some breakfast."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment - they fuel my confidence to write!
> 
> Come say hi to me on tumblr at http://katamaran10.tumblr.com/

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please comment - it fuels my courage to keep writing!


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